


The High Lonesome

by wedgie_of_destiny



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, The People - Zenna Henderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedgie_of_destiny/pseuds/wedgie_of_destiny
Comments: 5





	The High Lonesome

The High Lonesome

Part 1. Of Cats and Curiosity

It was two in the morning. Sally…more commonly known hereabouts as Mistress Sally…was just locking up the Flyin' Pig, when she caught sight of him. Again. He was skittish as an alley cat. In fact that was exactly what he most reminded her of. She would only see him at night, wandering the alleys around the pub. No doubt scavenging what he could from the trash middens. Just the thought made her want to cry. It also made her want to punch somebody in the face.

Oh, dammit, he’d spotted her. All she’d wanted was to leave him some leftover stew, so he’d have something hot that wouldn’t make him sick. She’d hoped to leave it and escape into the shadows herself, where she might get a better look at him. Well…nothing ventured, nothing gained. She set a clay jar…and a loaf of fresh-baked bread…on a cloth on the porch of her establishment, and parked herself nearby on the steps.

“It’s all right, Honey,” she drawled…in an accent that was surely unknown to Kirkwall. “I won't bite ya. I'm not a half-bad cook, either.”

“Come on down,” she said softly. “Set a spell…

His ears...and his curiosity...pricked up at the accent, which reminded him of a cross between treacle syrup and a sawmill. It wasn't the sound of her voice that put him on edge; it was that he suspected her of exaggerating the drawl. But he could think of no reason for her to do so. 'Probably just me being paranoid,' he thought. Still, he remained wary. Yes, she was a woman, and in the soft light coming through the tavern window, he could see that she was far from hard on the eyes. But the same might be said about any number of his former Templar colleagues...including Bitch-Commander Meredith. Even when he was at his best, she or any of the others might have kicked his ass in a fair fight.

Which this most certainly was not. He sighed, as a whiff of the jar's contents drifted his way. Beef stew, and what smelled like bread still hot from the oven? A cruel torture, to a hungry man. Could she actually intend this for him? Perhaps she'd seen him scavenging the waste bins. Or worse yet...heard his wretched hurling, when hunger drove him to eat what even the rats wouldn't. As he pondered the situation, he knew he'd seen the woman before. But where?

He moved a few steps closer, folding his arms on his chest. "Are ya in the habit of collectin' strays, Lady? Cause I don't need yours er anyone else's pity." His tones were pure Kirkwall, rough and tough as the docks themselves.

Once…when she was young and foolish…Sally tried to catch a feral cat. Poor critter had an abscessed paw. So she’d put out food, and when he crept close enough she’d seized him by the scruff of the neck. She still had the scars from that encounter. So, rather than moving toward this particular stray, she scooted backwards on her haunches, very slowly. To allow him more of a comfort zone.

“I'm no lady, I work for a livin'. And I can’t help everyone.” Though her speech was grammatical, her accent carried traces of the Great Smoky Mountains, the Trail of Tears, and the Dust Bowl. As well as...in the more distant past...Yorkshire, County Down, and yes, Kirkwall. The Kirkwall of the Orkneys.

“Thing is, that doesn’t excuse me from doing what I can. So…I save it up for special times." She tilted her head to look at him. “Those times when you come to the Great Divide, and something inside whispers, ‘This is one of those moments.’ ”

"The Great Divide?" he asked, moving a hair closer. His nostrils flared. Damn the woman, for making things that smelled so delicious...

"It's from a poem," she answered. " 'Good and bad, can't decide. Chance dances on the Great Divide.' It's about the mountains back home, but...other things too. Choices, for one."

He nodded, moving no closer. "I guessed as much."

Crossing one long leg over another, she looked up at him and tried to scowl. She was dismal at looking mean, unless she really meant it. So she snorted and threw up her hands. “Best stew in Kirkwall, offered in person by a pretty girl, and you're just gonna stand there and let it get cold?”   
Shaking her head, she sighed, stood up and turned away. "I'll just leave the food. Once the scary lady is gone, maybe you'll eat somethin'. Big spooky tomcat..."

He snorted in turn. "Thought ya said ya weren't no lady."

Shrugging, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Everybody's a critic."

"Oh, sit down," he said, pretending annoyance. "After goin' to all this trouble, I guess ya have the right ta sit an' watch me enjoy it. I'm...just outa the habit of bein' gracious. Not that I was ever much in the habit ta begin with..."

"Heard as much," she allowed. "Also heard the ones you were...ungracious with...had it comin'."

He took a bite of the stew. It was every bit as good as it smelled, but...spicy. A flavor he'd not experienced before. "I've seen yer face," he said. "Not here on the docks. Someplace else. "

"The Rose," she supplied helpfully.

"You ain't one o' the girls," he said, giving her an assessing look. "Not that ya couldn't be, and fetch a high price at that. But if ya was, I'd remember...Ha!" he said with a laugh, as it came to him. "Mistress Sally! The bouncer who tossed Alrik on his arse. Nice job, that."

"I aim to please," she said with a smirk. "Sometimes..."

"Ya pleased quite a few of us that night. Those that saw...and them that only got ta hear about it later." By this, he meant the mages shut up in the Gallows, many of whom had suffered Alrik's abuse. "So...from what ya say, I take it me evil repute has preceded me?"

"If you mean do I know who you are, and that you were kicked out of the Templars...yes. If you mean, does this make me think worse of you...no. If it did, we wouldn't be havin' this friendly palaver."

"Figured as much. What do ya want?'

"For a start, I want you to eat the rest of that stew."

"What's in it? Spicier than I'm used to..."

"Red chile," she said. "I made some without, if it's too much. Not everybody likes it..."

"No, no, it's fine. More than fine. I...just don't have much appetite these days."

"How long since you had an actual meal? Not just what you could scrounge?" 

He shrugged. 

"You can't remember," she guessed; and he nodded, looking shamefaced. "It's all right, Samson," she said. "I hope you don't mind if I call you that..."

"Why should I mind? It's me name."

She shrugged. "Some folks get all bent out of shape if you don't call them Ser This and Lady That."

He smirked. "Well...as ya put it yerself...I work fer a livin'. When I can."

"That's...what I wanted to talk to you about."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ya want to offer me a job?" She nodded. "Doin' what?'

"Nothin' unsavory," she replied. 

"If ya know as much about me as I think ya do," he said drily, "I'm sure ya'll know that me and unsavory jobs are well-acquainted."

"I do," she admitted. "And I'm not sayin' you can't keep takin' those other jobs as it suits you. Just...be careful."

"I can handle things for respectable folk," he assured her, "without draggin' their names into my other...pastimes."

She snorted. "Respectable? I'm a pubkeeper, who earned her stake workin' at the Rose." This last was not precisely true...but what he didn't know would hurt neither of them. "It's not my good name I'm worried about." She smirked. "Don't get a big head. I just don't want my investment to end up floatin' in Kirkwall Harbor."

"That makes two of us," he agreed. "So...what would you be expectin' from yer...investment?"

"I need a watchman. For the Pig, and..." She pointed to a small sailing vessel, moored at the nearest dock. "That's the Hesperus," she said. "Besides the captain's quarters...those are mine... she has lodgings for a first mate. Those will be yours, meals included, along with a fair wage. And...a lyrium ration. Twice a day, the same as any other Templars. In return...besides the watchman's duties...I hear you're not averse to a bit of smuggling."

He eyed her sidelong. "Where do ya hear all this?"

"From one of the ladies at the Rose. You wouldn't know her. She goes veiled, and never sets foot outside the house."

He frowned. "Think I've heard about her. Rivaini, er somethin'. She's a dancer. She starts out with seven veils, and during the dance she takes 'em all off, one by one. How does she know me? She's way above my pay grade."

"The last veil she takes off is the one that covers her hair. And...her forehead. She's a Tranquil."

"Fuck," muttered Samson. "This must be the girl Meredith made Tranquil, over choppin' up herbs for a potion. She cut her finger, and Meredith called it blood magic. I was gone by then, but Thrask, Agnes and a few others raised a fuss. So Meredith threw her out on the street."

"Yes, that's Fana. We became friends when I was working as a bouncer. In fact she's my business partner, but...she's safer hiding out in the Rose. She makes good money there...and she's been funding a lot of the smuggling hereabouts. With regard to mages."

"I knew somebody must be doin' somethin' of the sort. Never imagined it would be a Tranquil."

"Yes, well...Tranquility might not be as permanent as people like Merde-ith think." 

He laughed at the Orlesian insult...also noting that it was delivered in a flawless accent. "Where are you from?" 

"West," she replied vaguely, waving a hand. "Far West. Beyond the Hissing Waste."

"I heard there was nothin' out there but wyverns and lurkers."

"You heard wrong. So...Knight-Templar Samson...do we have a deal?"

He held up a hand. "If ya need somethin' more than Samson, my given name's Raleigh. Me mum's idea. She said it was a fine gentleman's name." He sighed. "But when I started me trainin', the other lads said it was poncey. So I thrashed 'em."

"Samson will do," she said with a smile, hoping this Raleigh would not come to the same end as the one from her world...

"So now you know the rest of me name, what about yours? Or do folk in the Hissin' Waste not have family names?"

"Some do, some don't. There's more folk out there than most would guess. Three main groups. I come from the Manni...and yes, we have family names. Mine is..." she sighed. "O'Malley."

He thought for a moment, gave her another sidelong glance, and said, "Sally...O'Malley."

"Yes," she replied with long-suffering patience. "My father had...a unique sense of humor. My given name is Salali, actually. It means Squirrel in my grandmother's language. Might be why I have a tendency to chatter."

"...I hadn't noticed."

She grinned. "Liar. It's also the name of a place that is...important to the Manni. They're...a religious group. Sort of."

"Not Chantry-approved, I take it."

She snorted again. "If the Chantry ever found out about the Manni...or any of the groups out past the Wastes...they'd send an Exalted March against us. If they could find us..."

"...Why is it that for every question you answer, I end up with three more I want to ask?" 

Sally shrugged. "Because some things can't be explained in a sentence or two. And others..." she shrugged. "Can't be explained. Only experienced."

He sighed. "Well...I think ya've got me pegged enough ta know I'd take this job out of curiosity, if nothin' else. One thing I hope ya can tell me now though...how is it an Orlesian from the Western Desert ended up comin' to Kirkwall on a boat?"

She smiled. "Because I'm not Orlesian, or from the desert. And the Hesperus...is not just a boat."

He threw up his hands. "Dammit, woman! That's exactly the sort of thing I mean!"

"And it's exactly the sort of thing I mean, when I say not everything can be explained in a sentence or two. I'm too tired for that kind of explaining tonight, and you're too tired to understand it. If you can't eat any more of that stew, empty what's left in that pot over there." She smiled. "For   
the other strays. And then come on, I'll show you your quarters. We'll work out pay and such in the morning. Over breakfast."

"I...haven't thanked ya like I ought."

"You don't have to thank me. I need the help...and you'll see soon enough why. But for what it's worth," she added, "you're welcome."


End file.
